The Secrets Of Mikel Kuznetsov

What is one supposed to do when the secrets that they hold are the things that will get him killed? The thoughts running through Mickey's mind are scarier than most others but these keep him alive during the difficult times of WWII.

2. The Fate

The gun is heavy in the crook of my arm. It adds an unneeded mass to my soul as well. This isn’t right. All of this, it isn’t right. I can’t challenge what is happening on the inside of these gates and I feel so very horrible for what is people think is right now a days.

The ‘filth’ fills the cobblestone streets, all lined up, awaiting their destinies. They are dirty and smell but the look that is plastered to their faces makes this job feel like I am I hell. Most are completely drained of any hope or happiness that might have filled them, even if it was the smallest amount one could have. But others have their head held high, not accepting anything less that life. Some of them give me looks of disgust as the pass me by and I stare at them with the death glare that I have mastered so well in the past few months that it shots fear into me, I shoving my gun at them to motivate them to continue walking or they might not be able to get their news. I look into the mass filling the streets for miles and I see the children who were hidden in the body of people, holding on for dear life to the mothers, fathers, or any family they have left. I think of Kristel. I should be home with her. Not here.

“I need to get home, Hans. I need to get home and see Kristel. She is all alone,” I tell him.

“I am sorry. I had no idea that she would be left alone. I through that your parents were in from Berlin,” he responds with sincerity dripping from his voice.

“They left on Thursday. Father was not feeling well. Do you know when this is going to be done? You know this is the least favorite part of mine. Watching them fall from the news.”

Erich turns to me and says “Mikel, I know you are not accepting of this work, but you have to pretend or you might become one of them,” he shoves his gun towards the crowd, “and then Kristel would be killed. You know that.”

“Yes, this is true. I am sorry that I have bothered you with this.”

“Mickey, you are our closest friend. It is fine.”

I give a weak smile and turn back to the gates. The end of the crowd is coming. They filter out of the ghetto, with the disdain that paints their faces, and towards the back walks a beautiful woman with striking blue eyes and a cascade of deep brown hair. She has no fear, anywhere. She clutches to what looks like her little brother, who can’t be more than 10, with heavy eyelids make his sadness squeeze my heart harder. I watch her as she approaches the men who decide their fates. They take one look at the boy and put him with the working men. Her eyes fill with tears, knowing that she will never see him again. They examine her with great detail. Please not the experimental camps. Please. They throw her into the cart that is heading to another ghetto. She watches her brother, sending silent prayers and ’I love you’s’ as they drive off with the other trucks going in different directions, some heading to death others heading to a life that makes you wish you were dead.